


Epilogue

by silvershadowsea



Category: The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue - V. E. Schwab
Genre: F/M, i don't like luc so here have an epilogue, i set it just before covid because i didn't want to deal with that!!, recommended listening: gold rush by taylor swift simply because of the vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:21:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28157487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvershadowsea/pseuds/silvershadowsea
Summary: It did not take Addie long to wear Luc down. As much as a hundred years, she had thought, until he decided he no longer wanted her by his side. But it only took six.
Relationships: Addie LaRue/Henry Strauss
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	Epilogue

New York City, February 2nd, 2020

Epilogue

It did not take Addie long to wear Luc down. As much as a hundred years, she had thought, until he decided he no longer wanted her by his side. But it only took six. It was three years until he was annoyed with her more often than not, and an additional three for him to be disgusted by the very sight of her. It has not been easy, but Addie learned manipulation from the best. Six years is no time at all.

Henry still lives in the same building. The blue door has been repainted to yellow, but little else has changed. The same photos of him and Robbie and Bee still decorate the walls, along with a few new ones. The three of them at the opening of Bee’s exhibition, backstage at Robbie’s Broadway debut, Bee’s wedding. The Polaroid photos of Addie are there too, spread out down the length of the hallway. He spends more time than he’d like to admit in that hallway, slowly walking from photo to photo, trying to recall Addie’s face. The only detail he knows he has exactly right is her freckles, all seven of them. He could draw them out on a blank piece of paper like an astronomer mapping out a favorite constellation from memory.  
Most of his bookshelves still contain the same eclectic mixture of genres that he’s always had, but there is one shelf filled with copies of his book. No, _her_ book. The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue. He prefers to keep his own name out of it as much as he can, but he has signed a few of them, for Robbie and Bee and his family. They are all so proud of his success with the book that his parents and siblings don’t even seem to mind anymore that he still works part-time at The Last Word. (“That’s all right,” his mother says, patting his hair fondly. “You can work on your next book in between customers.”) And he does. His second book, a crime novel set in 18th century Paris, is set to be published later in the year, and he has started work on a third.

It is the second day of February, and spring is not even a suggestion on the wind, which still blows its frigid breath down every street in the city, prying at Henry’s hat and scarf. He unlocks the bookshop door with fingers fumbling in thick gloves, and stamps his snowy boots on the faded doormat. He flips the sign in the door to read “Open” and takes off his coat, gloves, and hat, tossing them behind the counter. 

Several hours pass almost without incident. One or two customers wander through. A delivery person shows up with a coffee and a chocolate croissant for Henry, who has decided that he can occasionally afford such luxuries as breakfast delivery. He eats the croissant contentedly and taps at the keyboard in between bites; despite himself, he has discovered a love of writing, and when Addie’s book was finished, he found that he did not want to stop.

The door opens, and the doorbell gives its little tinkling chime. Henry, who is in the middle of a sentence, finishes it before looking up. Someone is standing in the doorway, their face almost entirely obscured by an enormous scarf. “Welcome in! Would you mind stepping in and closing the door?” he asks. “It’s cold out there.” He picks up the coffee cup.

The person steps through and closes the door. “Of course.”

And Henry stops in the middle of a sip of coffee. He knows that voice. Hands shaking, he places the cup on the counter--it’s a miracle he doesn’t drop it, really--and stands. He can’t remember his heart ever beating this fast. “Addie?” he chokes out. 

She unwraps the scarf from her mouth and nose, revealing a grin brighter than the new yellow paint on his door, warmer than the sun. There are tears in her eyes, from the freezing wind or from emotion, he can’t be sure. “Henry,” she breathes.

He strides forward to wrap her in a crushing hug. She is real, she is here, and he didn’t realize how much he needed her until now, needed to hear her laugh and see her smile and feel the imperfect way their bodies fit together. He thought he would have to live the rest of his life with only the memory of her, and he told himself he had made his peace with that, but he hasn’t, not really. 

Suddenly his heart gives a lurch and he pulls away. “Addie,” he says again. “Are you-- can you--” He is so afraid of losing her, so terrified she will walk back out that door, that he can’t even get the words out.

“I’m free,” she says, and she is laughing and crying, and now so is he. Her mittened hands are around his neck and he wraps his arms around her waist.

“What does that mean, exactly?” he asks softly. 

“From now on, I live out my life as anyone else would,” she says slowly, as though she is fully realizing this for the first time. “I will grow old, and I will die, and my soul will remain my own.” She closes her eyes and leans forward to press her forehead against Henry’s. 

Henry doesn’t know what to say. He has spent six years trying not to spend every waking moment thinking about what happened to Addie, where she went, whether she would ever return. “Will you stay here?” he finally manages to say. “With me?”

“Yes, I will,” she says with a smile on her lips and in her voice, and kisses him softly, as though they have all the time in the world. 

They finally break apart when the bell over the door chimes again and a customer enters the shop. “Hello,” he says gruffly from under the collar of an enormous puffy coat, and disappears into the mystery section.

Laughing quietly, Henry turns back to Addie. “So,” he says. “Your 24th birthday is coming up.”

“Yes, it is,” she says, eyes twinkling. “I’ve been 23 for over 300 years. I wonder what 24 is like.” She sobers then, and glances out the window. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared.”

“It’ll be okay.” He cups her cheek.

“I know it will. It’ll have to be,” she says, eyes full of determination. It will be okay, because they will be together. Henry has more years ahead of him than he ever thought possible, and Addie has far fewer, but together, they will be all right.

“Henry?” she says, bringing her hand up to cover his. “When I said I’d stay here with you, I didn’t mean that, not exactly.”

His heart stops again. 

She smiles at the terrified expression on his face. “Of course I’ll stay with you,” she says. “But not here. I want to travel. There are so many places I haven’t seen yet.”

Henry gives a huge sigh of relief. “Good,” he says, laughing weakly. “We’ll visit as many places as we can. We have--”

“So little time,” she says at the same instant as he says--

“So much time.”

Both of them, of course, are right.


End file.
